The 100 Themes of Life
by Flamefox2
Summary: 9: Death: It was more vexing to him to watch a corpse die and decay than anything else. He didn't care much for what happened to its spirit, as much as he did observing.
1. The Themes

So I randomly decided to do a 100 theme challenge for Blue Exorcist. Out of boredom. So... there are the 100 themes that I got on a website and idek.

**1. Introduction**

**2. Complicated**

**3. Making History**

**4. Rivalry**

**5. Unbreakable**

**6. Obsession**

7. Eternity

8. Gateway

9. Death

10. Opportunities

11. 33%

12. Dead Wrong

13. Running Away

14. Judgment

15. Seeking Solace

16. Excuses

17. Vengeance

18. Love

19. Tears

20. My Inspiration

21. Never Again

22. Online

23. Failure

24. Rebirth

25. Breaking Away

26. Forever and a day

27. Lost and Found

28. Light

29. Dark

30. Faith

31. Colors

32. Exploration

33. Seeing Red

34. Shades of Grey

35. Forgotten

36. Dreamer

37. Mist

38. Burning

39. Out of Time

40. Knowing How

41. Fork in the road

42. Start

43. Nature's Fury

44. At Peace

45. Heart Song

46. Reflection

47. Perfection

48. Everyday Magic

49. Umbrella

50. Party

51. Troubling Thoughts

52. Stirring of the Wind

53. Future

54. Health and Healing

55. Separation

56. Everything For You

57. Slow Down

58. Heartfelt Apology

59. Challenged

60. Exhaustion

61. Accuracy

62. Irregular Orbit

63. Cold Embrace

64. Frost

65. A Moment in Time

66. Dangerous Territory

67. Boundaries

68. Unsettling Revelations

69. Shattered

70. Bitter Silence

71. The True You

72. Pretense

73. Patience

74. Midnight

75. Shadows

76. Summer Haze

77. Memories

78. Change in the Weather

79. Illogical

80. Only Human

81. A Place to Belong

82. Advantage

83. Breakfast

84. Echoes

85. Falling

86. Picking up the Pieces

87. Gunshot

88. Possession

89. Twilight

90. Nowhere and Nothing

91. Answers

92. Innocence

93. Simplicity

94. Reality

95. Acceptance

96. Lesson

97. Enthusiasm

98. Game

99. Friendship

100. Endings

So I hope that you guys enjoy the 101 chapters that it'll take to write this stuff! 101 chapters for 101 dalmatians. I like dalmatians. They're cute. ^^


	2. Introduction

**I've never written Rin Okumura before, so please forgive me for bad stuff. ^^' And, to be honest, I never actually watched/read the first episode/chapter before (I missed it on Adult Swim), so... yyyyeah... ._.**

**I also do not own Blue Exorcist. If I did, it would focus more on the Demon Kings and Rin meeting them and Satan actually being nice 'n stuff.**

**Introduction**

Rin Okumura used to live an ordinary life in a monastery with his little twin brother Yukio. He used to believe that he was a normal boy with normal morals. He had normal goals; to be like his father, Shiro Fujimoto, and to protect Yukio whenever he needed to. He loved his family-the priests loved him, he loved his home, and he was glad to be able to live in such a kind place.

Then came the day when he was introduced to the world of Exorcists.

It happened at a convenience store, of all places. Ironically the place where he worked. Where others saw a monkey, he saw an odd-looking creature with odd arms and a wide face with a pointed tail shaped oddly like an arrow. He would later know it to be a goblin, and Rin chased it around the entire store trying to get the scarf from its hands. It was nimble, like a monkey, but it wasn't one. Eventually he caught it and got the scarf away from it, but by the time that was done, the store was ruined, and he was fired on his first day on the job.

Later on that same day, he saw odd-looking creatures floating in the air outside, ones that nobody else around him could see. In the distance, they looked like pieces of coal flitting down to the ground, but up close they looked like tiny little monsters. And they were.

Even though he was rudely introduced to Satan, his biological father, that night, and experienced the death of his proclaimed dad, he considered these two occurrences to be his introduction to the world of Exorcists.


	3. Complicated

**Complicated**

When Rin first met Satan, he was furious that he practically killed his dad. Rather, he had him commit suicide, which was something that Shiro would never have done before. And now here he was, after chasing down the demon king in the middle of nowhere, where the trees were shivering and the wind was cold. And Satan smiled.

He didn't expect anything other than that; after all, he was Satan. He should have known better than to expect anything good of the creature before him. But he didn't expect for Satan to reply to him so coolly and calmly, like this was the first time they met.

"Um, hi," he said almost shyly, smiling cheekily and waving. "What's up?"

He was a rather tall man with snow white hair and sapphire eyes dressed in rich but modest maroon robes. Many questions burst into Rin's mind, but he found that he couldn't say any of them as Satan reached into his sleeve and pulled out a slice of a carrot, munching on it with his pearl-white fangs peaceably.

Finally Rin settled for dashing up to the demon king and striking him with Kurikara, surprised when his biological father did nothing more than step back. Another slash, and Satan settled for jumping away a fair distance, a look of confused understanding marked on his face. "Um, Rin, I know I'm Satan and all," he said, jumping backwards onto the ground when Rin struck again, this time cutting off the tree's limb, "and that you're training to be an Exorcist, but that doesn't mean you have to kill me."

_"You bastard!"_ shouted the angry adolescent, the blue flames coating his entire body and the blade of Kurikara whole. His tail lashed irritably behind him as he leered at Satan, fifteen feet away, who appeared surprised. Before he said anything else, he ran once more towards the snow-haired man, who resorted to grabbing the sword's blade before it hit him. "You killed my dad!"

"Eh?"

While Satan held Kurikara's blade in one hand and was distracted by Rin's outburst, the latter balled up his fist and punched the taller man's face with enough force that, if he were a normal human, his head would have been knocked right off. There was a moment of silence, before Rin felt a sharp pang shoot up his back and he yowled, jumping back and hissing when that only made it worse. He looked down at his tail and noticed that Satan had gripped it tightly in his hand and was pulling it.

Rin glared up defiantly at Satan, though there was a trace of fear in him. Satan watched him with an expression that screamed confusion, and he released Rin's sword to wipe away the blood that was beginning to fall from his nose. Right afterward, he shoved Rin away from him, releasing his tail as he busied himself with his pretty little face.

Which he didn't seem to care much for in the first place, paying more attention to his confusion than anything else.

"What do you mean? Shiro died several months ago, you do realize?"

"Yeah! Because you killed him!"

At this, Rin pointed Kurikara accusingly at Satan, his eyes narrowed in rage. The only reason he wasn't beating the strongest demon in Gehenna to a pulp was because he wanted to know what made Satan so confused. His ice-blue eyes glanced down at the sword, though not in the wary sense, then back at Rin. "Rin, dear," he said, lowering his hand from his face, "I haven't been to Assiah in almost sixteen years - OHHHHH."

All of a sudden, his expression turned dark, and he slammed his fist into his open palm. "I see what happened there," he said, turning away from Rin and beginning to pace back and forth in a way that made the younger one's head spin. "That little brat - I shoulda known he'd try somethin'... but kill my second-youngest son's foster daddy... oh, no, now that's just not acceptable!"

He reached into his robes once again, but instead of carrots, he removed a mobile phone and opened it, dialed a number, and put it to his pointed ear, standing in place and tapping his foot on the ground impatiently. The only sound breaking the silence was the crackling of Rin's flames as he tightened his grip on the sword.

"Yes, Iblis," he said, his voice suddenly sweet enough that Rin had to force himself not to relax, "can you tell me what the **_FUCK YOU DID FIVE MONTHS AGO BECAUSE I SWEAR YOUR ASS WILL BE MINE WHEN I RETURN TO GEHENNA YOU LITTLE BRAT."_**

Despite how nervous Rin felt at the moment, he felt the strongest urge to laugh, both at how much he didn't understand what was going on, and also the surprising mood swing that Satan displayed.


	4. Making History

**Making History**

Mephisto was not in the least bit ashamed to admit his absolute hatred for Adolf Hitler.

Being forced to watch the Jews and the people that the leader of Germany deemed unworthy of living in day-to-day society was not something he enjoyed. It put him on edge, forced him to tread carefully and disguise himself more than he normally would. He had to _bleach_ his beautiful purple hair! He had to ask his father for blue contacts so he would appear as if he stemmed from Aryan roots! He had to keep his tail carefully hidden, prevent himself from standing out - which was something he loved to do, even if it made him look like a fool. One wrong move, and he would be sent away.

As if that wasn't enough, Amaimon decided to visit him in Assiah, and Mephisto had to take care of him, too. Over the years, Amaimon grew more quiet and impatient, and with impatience came boredom. He was understandably hesitant when Mephisto told him to bleach his hair, but he did it anyway. He always did what Mephisto told him to do, unless he was distracted.

When he saw that Amaimon was also beginning to become stressed in 1945, after four years of him dealing with this nonsense, he was approached by the blue-eyed demon one fine August day and was surprised when his little brother grabbed his arms and shook him harshly. "Brother," he said, "brother, I can't take it anymore. Brother, can we please leave Germany? Brother..."

Mephisto saw blood on his face, blood that was his. Steam was still drifting upward as his wounds healed. He looked almost afraid.

"Amaimon, I told you to get milk."

"I'm sorry, brother, I'm sorry, the soldiers, they-" he gulped and fell to his knees, never breaking eye contact "-they found me and beat me up and took the milk, and I didn't fight back because you'd be angry at me... are you mad? Please don't be mad..."

Mephisto sighed and gently placed a hand on Amaimon's shoulder. He could feel his brother trembling under his hand, see the fear in his eyes. "Did they hurt your tail?"

Hesitantly, he nodded. "Th-they didn't see it, though; they kicked my back a lot..."

Knowing that Amaimon was so uncharacteristically terrified because of the Nazi Party... it struck something within him, a chord of malice, a flash of rage. He tightened his grip on Amaimon's shoulder, frowning. "Amaimon, let's play a game."

"A game?" he repeated, confused.

"Let's kill Adolf Hitler."

Amaimon's face lit up like a Christmas tree. "YAAAY!"

"Hush, Amaimon," whispered the eldest brother, covering the dirty blonde's mouth in an effort to stifle him. "Don't be so loud." Slowly the younger brother nodded his head. Mephisto released his grip on him and glanced out the windows warily, before standing and gesturing for the shorter man to follow him. "Let's talk in the basement. It's awfully warm up here."

Abandoning _Mien Kampf _in favor of his little brother, Mephisto brought him downstairs and, while snapping his green tail back into place mere minutes later, began to discuss his plan. Amaimon listened intently, determined to absorb every piece of knowledge he could, occasionally chirping in. "I want him to suffer," he said once, to which he replied; "Is killing him not enough?"

The younger of the two shook his head honestly. "I want him to suffer for making the humans that hurt me."

"Oh, you _Dummkopf_," said the elder, smiling with an odd mixture of amusement and fondness. "You can't call them humans any more than us and be truthful about it."

"Then what are they?" asked Amaimon, his curiosity overriding the fact that he'd just been called an idiot. He winced when Mephisto twisted his tail back into its desired position, biting down harder on his nail to take the edge of the pain off. Mephisto noticed that he was doing this more and more often as of late; at first, he thought nothing of it, but he began to grow worried as his black claws were swiftly transformed into short nails. At this point, he was chewing on more skin than nail.

Mephisto reached around his little brother and gently pulled his finger from his mouth, ignoring the slight trace of blood that soaked its way into the fabric of his lavender gloves. Amaimon sighed in resignation, leaning back onto his brother's shoulder and closing his eyes tiredly. "Aniue, humans confuse me," he said at last, reopening his eyes and quietly watching Mephisto mend the latest addition to his wounds. "How can you live with them for so many human years without losing your mind?"

"I told you, Amaimon, they aren't humans anymore. It's just a title they selfishly call themselves because they refuse to face the fact that they've become demons in their own right."

"Is that what they are, brother?" At this point, Amaimon lifted his head to look at Mephisto's broody, tired face, his true blue eyes boring into Mephisto's falsely colored ones. "Are they demons from Assiah?"

"Not quite." Mephisto sighed and raised his head upward, staring at the darkness of the ceiling that their cheap gasoline lantern failed to light. He searched for words that his brother would understand; that was before he heard gentle snoring, and when he looked down, he found that Amaimon had fallen asleep.

* * *

><p><strong><span>August 30, 1945<br>Berlin, Germany  
><strong>

After six years of living through hell, Mephisto discretely entered the bunker with his shadow of a brother following close behind him, the earth being kind enough to hush their footsteps for its King. He was holding onto his elder brother's hand, trying to keep as close as possible to him for fear of being seen. Despite being told that he could fight back if he was ever caught and beaten, Amaimon was still incredibly hesitant, worried that the cover that he and Mephisto had so carefully built would be block to cinders in mere moments.

It was a pain in itself to sneak into the bunker; despite being small, the place was exceptionally guarded and secure. When Amaimon asked how his brother knew that Hitler was in there (with a disapproving scowl, of course), Mephisto replied with a sweet, sweet smile; "Why would such an insignificant place be so heavily guarded, little brother?"

Amaimon opened his mouth to speak before he deliberately closed it, unable to conjure an argument believable enough to contradict his superior. Mephisto nodded his head with a snide smirk before snapping his fingers quietly, causing a stone to fall into a glass bottle with a loud _crack__. _The guards six feet in front of their shelter in the bush turned sharply and left to investigate the source of the noise.

While distracted, Mephisto clenched his brother's hand and jumped into a pit of shadows, his stunned brother following close behind. To compliment himself with the darkness, he'd dressed himself in pitch black attire, and forced Amaimon to do the same. Both fo them wore silent shoes that would hardly make any sound at all on any surface; but still Mephisto found his tail coiled tightly around his chest, twitching with anxiety and the thought of what would happen if he was caught.

Only once did Mephisto have to pause time, and that was as he was picking the lock to the bunker door. Only when he finished did time resume, and he hurridly grabbed Amaimon and pulled him inside. He sighed in relief, turning toward the inside of the bunker to view its interior-

- and stepping away against the door when he saw the Fuhrer pointing a gun at his head.

Mephisto didn't doubt that he would shoot. There was a cold, hard glint in Adolf's eyes that came only from years of war and suffering. His hand was steady, his finger resting on the trigger of the gun, prepared to take a life to save his own. Really, though, Mephisto gathered that the gun wouldn't hurt him; the pistol was loaded with bullets for humans, not demons. The reason he reacted the way he did was truly a stimulus to acting like a human would.

There was no reason at the time to act 'normal', though, if his prey was going to die, so he allowed himself to relax and even smile as Hitler opened his mouth and said, "_Was machst du hier?_"

The pure German voice filled Mephisto with a heavy thrill; the hardness of it, the determination, the baritone of a true German leader; had he chosen another path, he would have been known and loved around the world, rather than feared and despised among most of Assiah. How fun it would be to break him to pieces.

Before Mephisto could open his mouth, Amaimon spoke.

"We're here to save you," he said in that well-known monotone, releasing his brother's hand. "You're at a standstill, and you know it. You can't take Britain, my idol, or Russia. You've been halted in your tracks."

Before another word could be said from the blue-eyed demon's mouth, Hitler repositioned his gun to the younger brother, frowning deeply. Mephisto shouldered his partner, urging him to be quiet, as the Fuhrer snapped, "And what of it?"

"With no disrespect, _mein Fuhrer_," continued Amaimon, placing his hand over his heart and bowing politely, "we are here to save you from yourself... and to indulge in all your fine glory."

Hitler's hand was steady as he smirked, sour. "Hah! There is no reason for you to speak to _me_ in such a manner! Know you place, homosexual."

"This is my big brother," exclaimed Amaimon, wrapping his arm fondly around the much taller demon's. "I asked him to help me find you, so I could view your greatness with my own eyes, see if the rumors were true. They were not, for they do you no justice, _mein gut Fuhrer_."

This was one of the reasons Mephisto came to love his brother. He was a coy little demon who could sucker up to anyone as if he were a submissive demon. One had to view his fine art of deception with their own eyes to see the greatness of it.

The Fuhrer smirked, falling easily into Amaimon's coolly deceptive tactics and replacing his gun in its former position toward Mephisto, who was still as calm as ever. In fact, he smiled softly, in the manner his father had smiled to him when he wanted his son to do something. "I'm a man of promises," explained Mephisto; "I told him that I would bring him to see you, and so I did."

It wasn't entirely a lie. In fact, it was the truth in all its glory; he simply withheld some valuable information, deceiving him in his own special way. Unlike Amaimon, who whispered lies.

"How did you get past the guards?" Hitler asked, his voice as dispassionate as a whore with her child.

"Darkness is a cloak all its own," Mephisto replied, his tail shifting eagerly under his shirt. "We did nothing at all to them, we promise."

Adolf Hitler raised a brown eyebrow before slowly lowering his gun, though he kept it clenched in his hand tightly enough to turn his knuckles white.

"You're tired of this, aren't you?"

The Fuhrer's eyes tightened on the taller man's gaze, who held it equally with a sensual smirk as he slid his arm out of Amaimon's and walked over to Hitler's side. The latter tensed and raised his gun, but the demon gently touched his hand and said, "Don't worry, I promise I won't do anything to you." Hitler didn't release his grip as Mephisto continued.

"You're just so exhausted; I can see it in your eyes, you poor soul. You were so eager for this long, drawn-out war that you thought you could win so, so easily..."

"But now that you're stuck," said Amaimon, following his brother's lead, "you don't know what to do, so you're grasping for straws." By now he was behind Hitler, his hand on his shoulder and lips by his ear. "Phantom straws that aren't truly there."

"But there _is_ one, _mein Fuhrer_," said Mephisto honestly in a hushed voice. "There's always that one way out, isn't there? The Angel of Death, yes."

"_Unhand me, you cretins!__" _snapped Hitler, pulling away quickly and pointing the pistol toward the brothers. They stood side by side, Amaimon leaning against Mephisto's chest in an effort to keep warm while Mephisto held him close by his shoulder. He felt his little brother shiver with excitement, contradictory to his placid face, and felt his green tail slap gently on Mephisto's leg.

Catching sight of the tail, the Fuhrer didn't hesitate to open fire.

_Click_

_Click_

_Click_

"Wha...?" he asked, staring at his empty gun in dumbfoundedness. "But, there were-"

Holding his free black-gloved hand out, he unclenched his fist and showed the whole cartridge's pistol bullets to the German leader, a large, smug smirk on his face. "Oh, brother," said Amaimon, catching sight of the gleaming brass, "you took them out."

"What _are _you?" exclaimed Hitler, loosing all of his collected calm and replacing it with fear.

"The third, and most important question," mused the tallest, looking down upon the helpless Fuhrer with deeply contemplative eyes. "_What_ are we? We, my dear Fuhrer, are-"

"Your saviors," Amaimon finished, huffing in spoiled annoyance. "_Dummkopf._"

Deciding to go along with it, Mephisto continued with a smirk, "We are here to relieve you of your dangers." He clenched his outstretched hand with the bullets tightly; when he opened it, there was a small pill in its place. "The bullets have returned to the pistol," he explained. "This is... go on now, tell him what it is, little brother."

Amaimon's deceptive personality returned tenfold. "_Mein Fuhrer_, it's a muscle relaxant that will ease you of your worries and let you rest."

Not entirely false, either, only stretching the truth to the point of breaking. Mephisto had to admit - he was impressed with his little brother.

"And why should I trust you?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

"We're your guardian angels, Fuhrer," said Amaimon again. "Why shouldn't you trust us?"

Mephisto saw confliction in his eyes - anger, uncertainty. Trust, uneasiness. A trace of misery, a flash of hate. A banquet of murder. Finally he snapped himself out of his trance before snatching the pill from Mephisto's hand, sitting down in a chair, and gulping it down.

Then Amaimon giggled like a giddy little school girl. Mephisto laughed as Hitler began coughing, coughing hard enough that blood began pouring from his mouth. "Tricked ya," said Mephisto, loving the horrified gleam in Adolf Hitler's eyes, the eyes that belonged to the man that had caused him so much worry. Hitler shakily raised his pistol, pointed it at Mephisto...

"...Who are you...?" he asked, coughing harder.

Leaning forward into the Fuhrer's face, Mephisto smiled cruelly and growled, "I'm the fucking spawn of Satan."

A snap of the fingers and a puff of smoke later, Mephisto and Amaimon were at home. They were both silent for a moment. Then Amaimon turned toward Mephisto, a smile plastered on his face. "That was fun!" he shouted, and the two of them burst into a hearty laughter. Rather than fall asleep, they both celebrated their victory throughout the rest of the night playing games and having fun, something that they were too tense to do before.

They'd find out later that Hitler shot himself just before the cyanide pill killed him. Mus. Hitler died by cyanide, too, in the same room that Hitler was in, which made them cackle like the demons they were.

* * *

><p><strong>This was a bug in my mind over the past few weeks that I just needed to get out. And when I read 'Making History' on one of the Themes, I thought this was the perfect opportunity to use it.<br>**

**The reason Hitler didn't die within ten seconds was because Mephisto cast a spell on the pill that slowed down the process of the cyanide affecting him.**

**Read and review! Hope you enjoyed!**


	5. Rivalry

**Rivalry**

Light against Time and Space. Fire against Water. Spirit against Rot. Bug against Earth.

How Satan grew up with his children is how these rivalries came to be.

All of his sons hated each others' guts, specifically their opposition. Lucifer had a particularly estranged relationship with Samael, the King of Time and Space. Perhaps the only reason Samael hadn't challenged his eldest son was because he knew that Lucifer was far, far stronger than him. That didn't stop them from snapping at each other in bitter hatred, and their Father wasn't surprised, but he did wish that they would get along a little better.

Iblis was so proud of his power that as soon as Egyn quenched his strength with water, he immediately snapped at the long-haired man, always agitated when his constant temper did nothing to annoy the Water King, who watched impassively with his hands folded in the sleeves of his kimono. On the rare occasion, he would reply coolly back, and it was probably how calm he was about it all that irritated Iblis further.

As for Astaroth, the second-youngest, his anger toward Azazel, the fifth oldest, began since he was old enough to walk. He loved to make things rot, but spirits did no such thing. Spirits were eternal. They escaped rot and Azazel was proud about that. So when he came to realize that his older brother's love of stockings were out of the ordinary, he tugged on them, calling them girly, and it lit the fuse to their bitter rivalry. It was simple, really.

Finally, the youngest, Amaimon of the Earth, despised Beelzebub's Chuchi. Despite Beelzebub being between Azazel and Astaroth age-wise, Amaimon was never afraid to strike his nerves by destroying his kin, glaring up at him defiantly, and then turning away before the King of Insects grew so annoyed that he began fighting his littlest brother. Really, though, it appeared that none of Amaimon's brothers had a liking toward him. Perhaps the kindest toward him was Azazel, who was still rude to him regardless of what he did.

Satan sighed as he looked down upon his children from his perch on the second floor, looking out onto the courtyard. Even from there, he could clearly distinguish their shouts directed at each other, hear the anger in their voices as they reached for each others' throats. It grew chaotic, so that even the rival brothers began attacking the kin that they got along rather well with. Such as, for example, Samael and Beelzebub, or Azazel and Egyn.

With nothing else to do, he jumped down and snapped at them to break it up and go to their rooms, punishing them by not giving them dinner. Grudgingly they obeyed, sour glare directed at sour glare, biting words hissed at each other. It took more threatening - no breakfast - for them to shut their mouths and do as they were told.

Satan sighed and rubbed the side of his head, feeling the beginnings of a headache.

This was going to be a long night.


	6. Unbreakable

Assiah was a broken, unpredictable playground. Perhaps Mephisto knew that from the start, and maybe that's why he loved it so much. It was clay—easy to mold, to shape into whatever he so pleased—and it was wood at the same time, something he could carve to his heart's desire. Yet there were spikes in the clay, and there were splinters imbedded in the grain of the wood; if he weren't careful, he would most certainly bleed.

He could take leaps of faith from the swing set, could grapple onto the next rung of the monkey bars and hopefully land on something soft if he messed up, if he slipped. Mostly it was a pile of ants he'd land in, and they'd bite him; but he grew more careful, learned to judge before he leapt, and now, more often than not, he ended up on a soft pile of ant-less sand. Of course, if some of the chains on the swings broke, and the monkey bars were thoroughly rusted, he would fall; but that only added to his fun, the elation of not knowing when the next falling would occur.

The humans were the dolls. Of course they were the dolls—easy to manipulate, to control, to fool. Yet at the same time, it was so much fun to play with them; and the more he played with them, the better he got at building them up before breaking them down. Yes, Assiah wasn't unbreakable in the least; but all that mattered to him was if it was fun or not.

And it was.

He just never expected that anyone else was playing so very carefully in his broken playground, so carefully that their presence seemed to be a mere trick of the light.

* * *

><p><strong>The song: Stronger by Thirty Seconds to Mars. Love it so much. But while singing along with it, I came to realize that it wasn't so innocent, after all… if anything, it's rather inappropriate. Maybe it's just my mind playing tricks on me.<strong>

**Anyone care to guess who the other person in the playground is? ;)**

**And yes, I know this is short, but this was just something that took up literally a little more than one wide-ruled notebook page. I kept it pretty much as it was, except for the very end. Yes, you heard right; one page. Not one sheet. One page.**

**Enjoy, my mini - er, friendly readers!**


	7. Obsession

People say that the clutches of obsession comes upon one suddenly and without warning. They say that obsession is swift and suddenly and without warning. They say that obsession is swift and sudden in its deliverance, beautiful like the fleeting glimpse of sakura blossoms, painting the shy sky with a quiet blush against its cheeks, leaving barren the beauty that it once held for that fleeting moment; and in glimpsing her naked body, strong and sturdy and unwilling to display (no, unwilling to feel) shame, they are awed by her subliminal, pure majesty.

The breath of one's sanity is said to be whisked away by merely this sight, the youth of their innocence behind them, the touch of her beauty enchanting, and, in the end, staring in awe at her unwavering conviction, suddenly an unknowing pet at her command.

He, on the other hand, disagreed.

He knew plants like he knew his heart: Still-beating, majestic, pulsating within his chest the secrets and the lies of the earth. He knew obsession-knew it as a sharp-tongued rival, biting his lies and laughing when its fixation was stranded, a helpless fish drowning in air miles and miles from water. No, not like that-he figured it would be more along the lines of a drowning plant.

Drowning under pounds of water, stuck to the ground where its roots entangled the earth in an intricate network of winding paths and corridors. The ray of hope (sunlight) filtered so heavily by it that its waterlogged form mutely danced in tune to the fractured light's beacon.

Granted, he thought, there were obvious exceptions. Kelp (suspended in misery, surrounded on all sides, but somehow living within this dying world, anchored to the ground); water lilies (the stems long and the spirits high above the troubles, he pondered grudgingly. Water lilies broke easy enough, though).

Obsession wasn't sakura trees. It was beautiful, yes, but it was lasting. It was a work of art, everlasting until the end of its immortal days.

Fixation wasn't water. it focused and it stored the focus in its foundation for survival. Its roofs were thick and strong, able to survive without nourishment for extensive periods; when encouraged to unleash her full potential, she blossoms in a valley of abandonment, and she is beautiful. Time, patience, stinginess-such is what creates the perfect fixation, the absolute obsession, and the perpetual passion that forges the ultimate utopia*.

Obsession was a desert cactus.

Strong, with roots deeper than the monotone drone of time. Obsession was a castle, and the roots created a fortress-a fortress unassuming on the front bu indeed with a sharp exterior and a toxic touch. Small. Quaint; but the corridors underneath it seemed to extend miles and miles deep.

Try to touch her, and she will bite.

Try to kill her, and she will destroy.

Try to nurture her...

(and she will bloom, he flowers the brightest of pinks against the hot desert sand.)

Such was Amaimon's obsession.

* * *

><p><strong>Utopia<strong>-defined as a place of absolute perfection where everything is perfect and everyone is peaceful. It was first used in the fictional novel Utopia in the early 1500s. Oftentimes it is depicted as being heaven on earth or the Garden of Eden-seeing as how Amaimon is the King of Earth, I suspect that he'd tie into the 'Garden of Eden' part, now that I come to think of it, haha.

I'm not dead. Just... unmotivated. Give me time to do my stuff, and I'll be able to update my stories without feeling stressed. :S


	8. Eternity

_**Eternity**_

Iblis' fires, he decided, would last for an eternity.

The urns they left would never seem to face. The dark tattoo of a memory implanted on the body for the remainder of its natural life, stinging, tingling, would force others to reconcile in fear. True justice would prevail, the fires of the one true Hell reawakened.

He would let his sparks rage for an eternity.

The humans would tremble in fear at the unnatural magnitude of justice he-the King of Fire-would display. They'd be so startled in their terror that they'd hesitate even to move, to speak, to breathe. Their own beating hearts would startle them half to death.

And Iblis would rule over this destruction, watching immortal mortals burn for fire, hearing their pleasurable shrieks, smelling the pleasant pungeance of burning spirits. Iblis would rule, watch, smile as the humans suffered for his own enjoyment, as he revived from the fictional texts of the Bible the very meaning of Hell.

And his weak, gentle father, who so lovingly tended to his every need, would be right there with them, the main attraction to God's freak show, the final act of the circus performance, the most magnificent carving created from a rock of pure blaze.

But it would wait. His time was not there yet. But he knew, with a dark smirk on his face-he _knew_ that the world of Gehenna would know his glory, and Assiah's downfall would be engraved in stone.

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><p><strong>I doubt that the next few themes would be anything other than mental descriptions. Such is where my inspiration has led me. I'm slowly clawing my way out of this dark pit that I've dug for myse<strong>lf.


	9. Gateway

_**Gateway  
><strong>_

Satan stares at the gateway from time to time. His eyes are vacant, lost in another place. What he sees isn't what the others see; the gateway to him isn't a harbinger of good fortune to the seven sins. What he sees isn't the death of humans by way of possession, the sight of exorcists exorcising demons from human vessels.

What he sees is nothing-nothing extraordinary, at least. His distant aquamarine eyes hold no pity or adoration. He feels no contempt for the spiteful humans nor pride in the good ones. He sees before him what is literal-it's merely a gateway, a rite of passage between two separate worlds. Whether it was opened willingly or not, the guards still stood there, gargoyles watching over the boarder between realms. Immigrant demons traveling from one end to the other, demons that would be better off in Assiah than they were here, at home, in Gehenna. Demons filled with hope, pride, and aspirations.

Once upon a time, Satan had felt the same way about this gateway, but now he realized that he had been too optimistic. These Others were too optimistic. Skeptics were pessimistic, always trying to convince others that this wasn't the promised land. It was just another Hell in its own right.

Satan now took neither side, instead opting for the median. He evaluated the problem, spoke on behalf of the Good and of the Bad, and took the time to consider. He was no longer a pessimist or an optimist. To seclude himself to one or the other would delude himself from the bigger picture. And frankly he would rather see the hole photograph in all its pristine glory rather than focus on a piece of fabric and _think_ he knew what the bigger picture was.

Once idealistic, he now stood there and watched the gateway, a changed demon from what he once was before. He smiled: He saw the bigger picture.

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><p><strong>Based in part on a quote I saw on Tumblr, which basically says: Don't seclude yourself to being either a pessimist or an optimist-instead consider and evaluate both sides.<strong>

**So... yeah. Another short chapter, but whatever. **

**If you guys want to follow me on Tumblr, go on ahead. It's flamefox2. I'll answer all questions here and on Tumblr. ^o^**


	10. Death

**_Warning: Gore. Maybe not the best gore on the website, but still gore nonetheless. It contains a passage about rotting bodies. If you don't like that kind of stuff, feel free to skip._**

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><p><strong><em><span>Death<span>_**

Wasn't it funny, how things died? Wasn't it odd, the contradiction between life and death, the foolhardy struggle to cling to life when you have nothing to live for? Astaroth always thought so, in an almost ironic sense, and perhaps he should. After all, as the King of Rot, he knew what it was to decay, slowly fade away until nothing but faded bones remained.

It was more vexing to him to watch a corpse die and decay than anything else. He didn't care much for what happened to its spirit, as much as he did observing. Watching, over weeks, as flies began circling the corpse and lay tiny eggs inside their muscles, in the ears, the blanched, life-drained eyes. Watching as the maggots hatched and feasted on the pale flesh, squirming and spasming. Slowly, they grew, and slowly the flesh, as did the organs, the tendons, replaced by the smell of decaying leaves.

When gone, all that was left was a shell. No eyes, no tongue, no heart. Perhaps there would be skin remaining, or fur, or feathers (depending on the corpse), but most likely, by this point, a stray animal will have takne what hadn't been left by infant flies.

This was only if the body wasn't found by a human, though. If it was a human body, they'd panic, scream, call for help. It always startled Coal Tars that swarmed around such bodies and made them scatter. But no matter what, it was always enjoyable to watch something just _rot. _And to watch things die, under his fingers, to see the life drain from its eyes and feel the steady pulse of breath disappear, it was...

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><p><strong>Reason why Astaroth was attracted to Shiratori? He liked killing things as much as Astaroth liked watching it decay.<strong>


End file.
